Living Spinefully

Hello friends,

Over the past almost two weeks, I’ve been trying to focus on practicing the mindfulness attitude of non-judgement, specifically as it relates to my body. This was put to the test last weekend when I went on a hiking trip through Red River Gorge in Kentucky. If you haven’t been there, I definitely recommend it. Nestled within the Daniel Boone National Forest, the gorge contains beautiful hiking trails and unique caves and rock formations. Hiking is probably my favorite outdoor activity, but living in the middle of downtown Columbus, I don’t have a lot of opportunities. I was really nervous about how my body would respond, as this was my first time visiting Red River Gorge. I tried to approach this vacation balancing my non-judgmental mindset while also being really intentional about listening to my body. I practiced regular body scans, identifying the sensations of different parts of my body with non-judgemental descriptors – for example, asking myself “is this muscle sore because I walked a lot of stairs yesterday going in and out of a valley, or does it feel like electric shocks in my legs?” This required saying no to some of the hikes with reviews of challenging rock scrambles and staying in a cabin instead of trying to camp. But overall, I had a really good time. Yes, I had some expected soreness in my legs, back, and butt, but I was able to soothe my own anxiety, at least part of the time, reminding myself not to tell a story about the pain.

“Things will just be better when…”

The second of the 9 Attitudes of Mindfulness is patience. When I was reflecting on experiences of impatience in my life, I discovered the common thought “things will just be better when…” In the past, this has looked like, “Things will just be better when I get a new job,” “Things will just be better when I finish school,” and “Things will just be better when the pandemic’s over.” Not only does this thought reflect impatience to allow life’s seasons to unfold in their own time, but it also avoids any acceptance of the present moment. In this way, impatience is wanting control of a process that cannot be controlled. As referenced by Jon Kabat Zinn, “trying to force a butterfly to come out of its chyrsalis.”

In the scoliosis community, people often talk about the frustration with the “wait and see” prognosis – when, after a life changing diagnosis of being told your spine is crooked and deformed, you’re given no other answer or recommendations aside from “come back in a year and we’ll see how it’s going.” My experience of the “wait and see” prognosis was a little different, as a congenital scoliosis case who never had that first scary diagnostic moment. But maybe around age 9 or 10, with pubescent body insecurity starting to creep in, I remember going into my annual check-up, hearing that my back was deformed but to just come back in a year. And strangely, part of me was disappointed that my curves weren’t worse. Because, perhaps naively, I thought that “things will just be better when I can get this fixed.” The confirmation of a “deformity” that was totally out of my control left me feeling impatient for an answer, any answer, even if it meant major surgery with life-long implications. I needed to be able to do something.

I find myself in a similar headspace now. Two spinal fusions done, with so many question marks about my future, I find myself angrily thinking “things would just be better if I had a different spine.” Chronic pain sucks. Period, end of story. Sitting in the ambiguity and discomfort of pain, feeling powerless to do anything about it, of course I become impatient for some process to unfold – my back getting better, my back getting worse, some kind of surgery, more physical therapy, etc. I have to remind myself that there are no magic answers. Those processes will unfold in their own time and in their own way, and they’ll come with emotions, decisions, and implications for my life. But right now – I can go on a walk in my neighborhood and look at the spring red bud trees in bloom. I can take trips and go on hikes and explore caves that look like another planet. I can sit in relative comfort on my couch with my cat. And I can also choose to take care of my spine every single day, patiently appreciating my body’s capacity in this moment.

So, my patience practice this week is to choose everyday to take care of my spine, and to let that be enough.

Thanks for reading. -Laura